Even
by Fallings Just Like Flying
Summary: After completing a mission in Germany, Clint and Natasha are assigned a covert task in Budapest. With the infamous Hawkeye injured from their previous mission, the pair find themselves struggling to stay alive. A tale of what happened in Budapest. Rating my change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello new and old readers! Let me start off by saying THANK YOU for checking this story out! As some of you may have known from reading my BBC Sherlock story, I love the Avengers to the point where it's almost an obsession. So I decided to write a fic about my favorite couple from the movie. I absolutely loved Clint/Natasha right away and so this is my take on what went down in Budapest. I've worked really hard on this first part so I hope you guys enjoy it. Please leave me a review and let me know what you thought, I do answer all of my reviews :) NOTE: I probably won't continue this story unless I get a fair number of alerts or reviews. I don't wanna put my focus on something that no one is interested in.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy and I hope to hear from you!**

**Chels**

* * *

**Even**

**Part 1.2**

Concealed amongst the towering spires of an old church located in Aachen, Germany, perfectly hidden, rested an assassin. From his tall perch he watched the cobblestone square below as citizens went about with their daily lives. In the dreary haze of the mid-morning sun, the people's faces were shrouded. None of them though looked to the roof of the ancient cathedral. Not one of them seemed to suspect the man sequestered high above, watching and waiting.

A breeze was blowing in from the west, bringing with it a mass of ominous gray rain clouds. Soon the morning vibrancy would be completely swallowed by the condensing gray fog. A stronger gust tasseled the man's light brown hair as if to confirm his inner thoughts – it would be raining before the mission was completed.

"Looks like rain," said a female voice over the ear piece he wore.

His partner, codenamed Black Widow, was stationed on the ground across the square – armed and extremely dangerous. Through the fog, Clint glanced down into the square, finding his partner seated casually on a patio of a coffee bar with a foam cup in her hand. The wind whipped at her long, velvet red curls and she gently brushed them behind her ear with her fingers. Not a soul would suspect her to be a proficient killer.

"Mmmm," he murmured in response. "Seems only fitting."

Clint noticed even at his distance the small smirk that danced across her lips, and smiled himself. The two of them fell silent again, placing their focus back on the task at hand.

The mission was rather simple, which was rare for S.H.I.E.L.D, and especially for Natasha and Clint. They were the division's best and most skilled agents. Natasha Romanoff possessed a skill set that was unmatchable. Her expertise had gained herself an intimidating reputation, one that she was willing to live up to. Her story was dark, but thanks to her partner, she'd begun to use her abilities for the greater good.

Clint Barton's story was slightly different. His parents were killed when he was young, forcing him and his bother into an orphanage. Not long after that, he and his brother ran away and joined a traveling circus, where Clint learned how skilled he was with the bow and arrow. His eyesight allowed him to see better from height and far distances, giving him his code name; Hawkeye. Both agents were S.H.I.E.L.D's greatest assets, and together the pair was practically unstoppable.

Most operations Nick Fury – the head of S.H.I.E.L.D- sent them on required extensive undercover work, with a medium to high difficulty. Their current mission however was nothing more than an assassination.

The man they were hunting was, according to S.H.I.E.L.D, an international bank robber from Norway. Somehow he'd acquired codes that allowed him to access every major bank around the world. The vague details usually meant that he wasn't that much of a threat, but rather an annoyance that could potentially be a hazard. Thus he needed to permanently be removed from the picture to alleviate some of the stress at headquarters.

Clint watched the dark clouds over head a while longer, waiting on Natasha's signal. The sunlight was slowly diminishing as the rain clouds consumed the bright pieces of sky fighting to stay visible. He used to feel like those small traces of light sometimes – being totally consumed by a dark, dreary haze, leaving him to suffocate on the harsh reality that had been thrust upon him. Now however he felt like he could breathe a little better, and see through the thinning smog of his former life. He was still no saint, but to him at least things were better.

"Target's inside." Natasha's voice informed mechanically.

In response, Clint gripped the handle of his bow tighter and stepped back from the ledge making certain no one could see him.

"There doesn't appear to be anyone with him." Natasha added. "Although I wouldn't hold my breath. This guy's an international back thief; he's bound to have bozos with guns."

Clint laughed slightly at his partners' nonchalant, almost bored disposition. She was anything but feeling threatened by Scandinavian henchmen. She'd dealt with worse not only working with S.H.I.E.L.D, but before she even switched sides.

The archer on the roof of the old church moved to the part of the structure where he could make his shot. The day before, the pair managed to scale the building and remove part of the glass from a skylight, which would enable Clint to take his shot without any difficulty. As he treaded across the roof, the rubber soles of his boots kept him from making any noise. His stormy eyes peered into the cut glass to scope out his target. Inside of the colossal structure were a small handful of people, exposed by the openness of the building. There were no balconies or landings, just the tall vaulted ceilings from which he was positioned. An array of twinkling candles lined the alter, and overall soured the pending mood. The organ playing from somewhere in the vicinity however, seemed rather the fitting score to the man's imminent demise.

"You know," Clint thought aloud, facing away from the opening so his voice didn't carry within. "If I wasn't already, I'm surely going to Hell for killing a man inside of a church."

On the other end of the mic came Natasha's dry, humorless laugh. He could practically see her roll her eyes when she finally spoke. "Now's not the time to question your morals, Hawk." She paused. "You'll have plenty of time to confess your sins after we kill this guy."

Clint smirked and looked back down into the cathedral. The man they were after was sitting in the first pew, closest to the alter. No one was with him – which didn't mean that he'd come alone- but altogether his assassination would be easy.

Pressing a meticulous combination of buttons located on this bow handle, he shifted the proper arrow head into place. There was no need of anything fancy, no explosions or fire, just a simple arrow head would get the job done. He removed the arrow from the cluster on his back, holding it between his middle and index finger he positioned it onto his bow.

"Going in," Clint whispered his warning.

"Be careful, and shoot straight."

"Always am, always do."

Clint hesitated briefly, thinking about his partner sitting alone less than a block away. There was no doubt in his mind that their target had men hiding somewhere, Natasha was right. He was one of Europe's most infamous bank robbers; he'd have men all around him. Knowing Natasha, she would know they were coming before they knew who they were looking for. That thought gave him a sort of security that only recently he'd become addicted to. Before he'd saved Natasha from a cruel fate, he was less careful. To him, the idea of death wasn't that frightening. He had no family anymore; they were dead. At one point he couldn't live with some of the things he'd seen and done. Before her he had nothing to miss leaving. Now there was another human being that knew the nightmares that plagued him, and had seen the horrors he'd seen. Suddenly there was someone who understood everything he'd been through, and he hated the thought of losing that.

Clint took a deep breath, exhaling all his cluttered thoughts so he could shoot straight when the opportune moment arose. Every breath he took was long, deep and virtually inaudible. After years of stalking and hunting, his senses were almost animalistic. His eyes never blinked or moved from his prey, his body stayed stone still as time ticked closer to make his kill.

Slowly, his fingers pulled back the arrow, stretching the thick cord as far back as it would, allowing the appropriate speed. The second he let loose the arrow, the next the man fell onto the marble ground, painting the once white stone a vibrant crimson. It didn't take any time for chaos to completely consume the interior of the church. The organ music was replaced by frightened screams and the thumping sound of people rushing out of the building. A brave few stopped amongst the confusion to look for the silent attacker, but Clint was long gone before they had a chance to see him.

The assassin crouched on the ledge of the massive church, his sharp eyes scanning the small crowd that was flooding out. Across the way, Natasha watched as well, her hand wrapped around the handle of the gun she hid inside her jacket. They were both waiting for the hired guns to reveal themselves, but as the rush of people escaping dwindled, so did the threat of more potential gunmen. Emergency vehicles started to arrive, police and ambulances, to come and investigate the murder. Clint watched them wheel out the lifeless body of the man on a stretcher, covered by a plain white sheet. Behind them was another man, carrying the arrow that Clint had used. He looked up into the spires of the building and Clint ducked out of sight. He would climb back down when all the excitement had died down, the decision was obvious.

"Doesn't look like Norway had any henchmen." Natasha mused.

A soft roll of thunder, echoed throughout the blackening sky, bringing with it the rain.

Clint was skeptical. "I don't know. The authorities probably scared them off." He paused and looked into the court yard. The weather hadn't frightened many of the towns' people away, most where gathered around the police blockades, attempting to see inside the church.

"I'd say it's safe to come down from your nest when the feds leave."

"Yeah, so I can get out of this rain." Clint mumbled.

"Mmmm, I don't mind the rain."

"You're under a canopy." He rolled his eyes, as Natasha stole a glance his way and smirked.

"Quit complaining Barton. They're gone. It's safe."

The agent on top of the roof looked to where the emergency vehicles previously had been. She was right; all that remained was the dry patches of cobblestone where they had parked. He flung his bow across his torso, like one would do with a book bag, and swiftly made his way to the back of the church walls. He quickly slipped on a pair of gloves to help him grip the ledges and leave no finger prints for the feds to swoon over. The building's sculptural embellishments created convenient ledges and handles to climb down without much effort.

"All clear?" he asked, before stepping into the open square when he reached the ground. With the suit he wore and the quiver of arrows strapped to his back, he didn't exactly fit in.

"Does it really matter?" Natasha sighed dully. "Just don't make any sudden movements. Walk naturally. I've got dry clothes for you."

He took a deep breath, and walked a quickened, but normal pace to the café Natasha was waiting at. Some people stared, others just ignored him. He wasn't sure what they were thinking, but he did know he didn't like the attention some people were giving him.

When he reached the patio, he grabbed the black bag, bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D symbol, sitting on a dry slab of stone close to the entrance of the café and went inside to change.

* * *

"Another job well done." Natasha said holding up her foam cup of coffee.

Clint, changed into dark jeans, shirt and jacket – smiled. "All in a day's work."

He took a seat in the cool, black iron chair positioned across from his partner, taking a sip of the coffee he acquired inside.

The rain was still falling steadily, while more soft rolls of thunder echoed throughout the gray sky. It was a calming storm with no fiendish lightning or gusting wind, just the lenient booms of thunder and the light pitter-patter of rain.

Shielded by the canopy hanging over the patio of the coffee shop, both Clint and Natasha watched the rain, and the square. All the excitement brought about by Clint's handy work was beginning to die down, and the square was slowly resuming its previous mundane cycle. Only one or two groups lingered around the old church, but most continued their dull lives.

"Fury wants to meet us tonight." Natasha suddenly said, slipping her phone back into her jean jacket after replying to the text.

"Here?"

She shook her head. "No, there's apparently a place in England that's some division of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Clint pursed his lips and shrugged. Before he got a chance to say anything, the sudden ring of gun fire and shattering glass sent both agents into full defense mode. They fell on their stomachs onto the cold, fragmented glass covered concrete. As soon as they fell, the shots stopped, but neither of them could see anything because of the small brick wall lining the patio. People were running and screaming about the square for the second time that morning, and amongst all the frenzied sounds four angry men shouting in Norwegian were the most perceptible.

Taking advantage of the moment, Natasha promptly took out two loaded, ready to fire pistols from her jacket and slid one to her partner.

"You don't have time for arrows," she told him.

Natasha knew how awkward he felt when he was using a gun instead of his bow, but given their current situation, he'd have to make do.

The Hawk and the Widow waited, listening to their attackers to see what their next move was. Natasha's Norwegian was a little rusty, but she was able to gather the information she needed to take them out. All four of them worked for the recently deceased bank robber, which made them fair game.

"I knew there would be ass holes with guns." Clint said unsurprised.

"Isn't there always?" Natasha sounded just as unfazed. "We've got to take this elsewhere though." She added, "we can't have casualties."

"Yep." Clint nodded.

Without hesitating, both assassins got to their feet and instantly started to run away from the cobblestone square, while a shower of bullets cascaded around them.

Somehow between the time the first shot was fired, to the current point in time, the rain had started to fall harder, thus making the smooth cobblestone quite slippery.

Clint and Natasha didn't stop running, coming to a narrow ally. The men after them shouted and shot, always missing. The shots ricocheted off of the alley walls, sending chunks of stone, and clouds of dust billowing through the air. Judging by the proximity of the bullet to closeness of body ratio, the thugs were gaining on them.

Taking a chance, Clint stopped and spun around, firing two shots right into the closest man's chest. As he dropped to his knees, he fired one shot, which managed to graze Clint's thigh, causing him to trip. Instantly, pain rippled through his leg, twisting his ankle as he fell. A cry escaped his lips as he lay on the stone ground. He added pressure to his wound with his hand to control the bleeding, only to send another wave of agony this time expanding throughout his entire body. Clint squeezed his eyes shut tightly as he tried not to focus on his injury. He'd endured worse - actual bullets- but pain was pain, there was no way around it.

His partner was to his aid before he could call her name, and with help, he got to his feet. Natasha fired one more shot and took out another ruffian as she helped Clint. He did his best to limp at a fast pace but by the tightness in his boot, he could tell his ankle was swollen, which made even limping a strenuous activity.

While the remaining henchmen were momentarily distracted by the dead men, Natasha helped Clint to a car parked a few yards ahead. Both ducked behind the vehicle, while the men chasing them resumed their mindless firing.

"How many are left?" Clink asked, breathless. He sat with his back against the bumper of the car holding his free hand on his wound.

"Two, "Natasha breathed, sounding just as tired.

"Okay." Clint whipped the rain dripping down his face. "I'll take the farthest."

Natasha nodded, and the pair stood up and both fired a single shot, ending their battle. The remaining thugs crashed to the soaked cobblestone, and Clint and Natasha breathed a little easier.

"Good shot," Clint praised, leaning against the hood of the car in order to keep his weight off of his injury.

His partner smiled. "Not too bad yourself. Right between the bastards' eyes." She raised her thin brow. "I thought you weren't your best with a gun?"

He shrugged. "The guy was far enough away. Eyes like a hawk remember?"

Natasha shook her head with a slight smirk, and briefly glanced at the blood staining Clint's pant leg. "You gonna be okay?" She eyed his wound.

"Yeah," he sighed glancing at it himself. "Once the bleeding stops and my ankle quits throbbing."

A more threatening boom of thunder radiated throughout the sky, and Clint frowned.

"The rain. That could stop too."

Natasha laughed lightly, causing Clint to smile as well despite his pain. He was glad the mission was over and they were both safe, if only for a few days.

With a sigh, Natasha swung Clint's muscular arm over her shoulders to help him walk.

"Alright Hawk. Let's get your ruffled feathers out of the rain."

* * *

**A/N: Let me know what you thought! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First off I'd like to thank all of you guys for sending me reviews and all the alerts were great! I apologize for the time it's taken to get this chapter posted, and it is subject to change since I still have not been notified by my beta. I glanced threw it and tried to pick up mistakes, I'm only human so if I missed any let me know. I just wanted to get this up for you guys. Please send me your thoughts and to those of you who don't have an account, I encourge you to get one so i can personally thank you for your reviews or answer any questions. ****I'll stop rambling now and let you get to reading! **

**ENJOY!**

**Chels**

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**PART 1.2**

To neither Clint nor Natasha's surprise, the weather had cleared up almost immediately after their mission was completed- as if the rain had only fallen to make their challenge more miserable and more difficult. Now the sun was shining, peeking through the thinning clouds, along with pieces of baby blue sky. The cool wind had morphed into a blissful warm breeze creating a dramatically different setting than a few hours ago. The only traces left of the rain was a few puddles on the uneven parts of the sidewalks and the damp streets in shaded ally's.

It was quarter till ten when the discreet black car pulled up to the curb where Clint and Natasha were waiting. The vehicle- bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D eagle would take them to a nearby airfield. Standard procedure stated that agents were to leave location within 12 hours of a completed mission; 2 hours if the mission had any setbacks. In S.H.I.E.L.D's eyes, Germany was no longer a safe place for their top agents to be residing, thus Natasha's and Clint's next checkpoint was England.

Clint sighed, thinking to himself. Flying never bothered him, but he didn't sleep well on planes, and he was not a fan of jet lag. As much as the assassin loved sleeping when he could, he didn't like feeling tired. Feeling tired off set his senses and slowed his reflexes- which was something he didn't like experiencing while in the field.

His partner helped him to stand from the bench the pair had implemented while they were waiting. He did his best to walk on his own, more annoyed by his discomfort then unhappy. With assistance he was able to slide across the back seat of the luxury car, and Natasha proceeded in after him.

Clenching his teeth he raised his injured leg onto the empty seat separating him from Natasha. The tender flesh around the gunshot wound rubbed against the heavy fabric of his jeans as he moved, causing a sharp stinging sensation to shoot in every direction from the abrasion. Thankfully the bleeding had stopped, and his wound was now only a gaping, pink and red gash on his thigh. However his ankle was still swollen and throbbing.

Natasha seemed to notice his soreness, and gently she placed his incapacitated foot in her lap to keep it from hanging off the edge of the seat. The tenderness pulsing throughout his inflamed ankle seemed to subside slightly from his partner's kind gesture. Clint gave her a singled sided smile to show his appreciation. The two of them shared a glance but said nothing. They'd worked as one unit for so long, often times it was like they could sense each other's pain.

It wasn't long before the car came to a halt and a man in a black suit –most likely an agent- opened the door. Natasha got out first, carefully gliding out from under Clint's sore ankle, allowing the nearby medical team a chance to aid the battered archer. Despite his valiant effort against it, the medical officials eventually got Clint into a wheelchair. He frowned, setting on the thick material seat. The wheelchair made him feel weak and vulnerable. He didn't need a stranger pushing him in a chair alongside his partner when all he needed was someone to help him support his weight.

The nameless agent led both assassins across the airway towards a S.H.I.E.L.D jet, that was to take them to their next checkpoint.

** X**

It was another black car- this time with no logo painted on the doors- that took Clint and Natasha where Director Fury was waiting to debrief the two of them. The busy streets of London were nowhere near as chaotic as the streets of Aachen, Germany had been that morning. Clint watched out the tented window as they drove, observing people in their domestic lives idly wondering what it must be like to live such an ordinary monotonous existence. He glanced at Natasha- who was also engrossed with the world outside the moving car - then back out the window.

Their transport finally stopped outside another café, and Clint looked at his partner with a raised bow. He'd had his fill of European café's for a day. With a shrug, both agents got out of the car, Clint able to walk on his freshly bandaged wounds. Putting most of his pressure on his left foot he was able to tread prudently on his own. However Natasha didn't stray too far from his side in case he needed her help.

Director Nick Fury – the head of S.H.I.E.L.D- was seated at one of the two tables outside the small café. Even though he was dressed in a black suit and not his usual leather coat he still looked out of place. As they approached, Clint could tell by the sour look on his face that he and Natasha were in trouble.

"Congratulations. Not only is the entire western part of Germany in uproar, but one of my best agents got shot."

Both assassins pursed their lips as they sat at the small table. This wasn't the first time they'd gotten injured, or had something go wrong, so they were used to Fury's scolding's and sarcasm. Eventually they'd be able to explain themselves.

"Everything was under control." Natasha stated boredly.

Fury looked skeptical "Not according to every major broadcasting next work across western Europe."

"Sir." Clint started calmly. "After the target was taken out, Nat and I waited to see if anybody else showed up- standard protocol- but they didn't."

"So you left your post?" Fury inquired.

He nodded. "Nat said it was clear."

The Director eyed the red headed assassin. "Sounds like you need glasses Romanoff."

"Director, we followed procedure." Clint defended. "We both thought it was odd that no one showed up right away, so we waited. . . "

"So basically what you're implying you were caught off guard? S.H.I.E.L.D's top agents were caught off guard by a handful of foreign thugs."

Natasha scowled. "Sir, we completed our mission, and got out without harming any civilians." She paused briefly. "That was the task you gave us."

Fury met her eyes with an intense glare before he spoke again. Clint raised a brow, looking at the two of them. For all he knew they were having some sort of telepathic argument, one that Nat would most likely win. The director finally sighed and slouched back in his seat.

"Alright, despite the mishap, good job." He paused and looked at Clint. "You okay?"

He shrugged. "I'm here aren't I?" He caught Natasha's smirk out of the corner of his eye.

S.H.I.E.L.D's on call medical team was grade A. It took them no time to stitch his gash and wrap his ankle. With a couple of pills to sooth the pain he'd be ready to chance criminals by dinner time.

Fury slid two identical folders across the table top and to each agent.

"If you two are up for it." He eyed the archer. "This is your next mission. Level 6 ."

Natasha's eyes lit up with excitement like they always did when danger was involved.

"Budapest?" She queried reading briefly through the file.

"Your target is Mikhail Valevach. A nuclear weapons manufacturer with incredibly strong ties to an Eastern European ring of mafia . Our sources tell us that lately he's been operating with a group that calls themselves the Ten Rings." He paused to study their faces. "You might have heard something about them on the news last year."

Clint nodded. "Wasn't that the group that held Tony Stark for like three months?" he vaguely recalled the bulletin he watched last summer.

"They should have kept him." Natasha mumbled.

Clint grinned and flipped through the pages paper clipped to the folder. He stopped on the page with Mikhail Valevach's picture and his lengthy list of criminal offences. The man looked to be in his late to mid-fifties with slicked back black hair that was graying around his temples. He had a thick beard that was rattled with gray hair. His eyes were dark and cold.

"This guy gets around." Clint remarked. "Aggravated assault, 4 cases of suspected murder, 2 cases of convicted man slaughter, armed robbery in 14 countries? Jesus. . .this guy makes Norway look like a fucking saint."

" '_Norway_' was associated with Valevach, which is why we had you take him out." Fury explained. "With him gone it should elevate some of the pressure."

"Always lookin' out for us. . ." Natasha mused sarcastically.

Fury's face soured. "I don't think you're in the position to joke Romanoff. Your negligence got your partner shot."

She fought rolling her eyes. "Sorry sir."

It was quite a moment, then the director continued explaining. "Coulson is working on your new identities as we speak. . ."

"Identities?" Clint's eyebrows pulled together.

The archer had mixed emotions with it came to tedious undercover work. Going undercover meant that he couldn't have his bow in his hands and a quiver of arrows on his back throughout the entire mission, which for him was unsettling. The rooftops were where he felt secure- his eyes scoping out the grounds while Natasha infiltrated and took out targets.

"This mission requires a full proof undercover tactic. It may come as a surprise to you, but S.H.I.E,L.D's radar can't seem to pick up on the Ten Ring's location."

"So you want us to take out the target, while trying to figure out his group's location?" Natasha confirmed.

"Precisely."

"When do we leave?" Clint asked closing the folder and leaning back in his chair.

Natasha closed her thick paper folder as well waiting for an answer.

"By the end of the week, the information is still coming in at base." He looked at Clint "That gonna work for you Barton?"

Clint nodded. "Yes Sir."

Fury smirked, nodding in approval. "This is gonna be a rough one guys, I trust you'll see it done. Right now though, there's a jet waiting to take you back to HQ."

The director glanced at the watch on his wrist and frowned.

"You late for a date Sir?" Clint teased with a fiendish smile.

"In fact I am." The one eyed director said.

Both agents looked at each other slightly confused.

"I can't keep the Queen of England waiting." He stood and glanced at both assassins. "I'll see you two later." He looked at the archer. "Rest that foot."

Clint couldn't help but to hold his mouth slightly agape from Fury's response.

"Wipe that look off your face Barton. And to answer both of your questions, Yes I'm serious."

Nick straightened out his black suit, walked around the small iron fence lining the outdoor seating area and waited at the curb. No sooner did his toes brush the edge of the sidewalk did another S.H.I.E.L.D car stop to collect him. Clint often marveled at how the drivers of the cars mysteriously appeared when they were called. It was almost as if they were kept on every block, in every town all over the world; to be summoned when needed.

Moments after Fury's car disappeared down the London Street, an identical car stopped in the same spot. Natasha stood first to help Clint to his feet if he needed it, then together they got into the back seat and driven away.

* * *

**S.H.I.E.L.D Head Quarters, New York; 5 Days Later**

S.H.I.E.L.D Head Quarters training room was possibly Clint's favorite place to be when he wasn't with Natasha on a mission. The room was constructed with tall ceilings, and bright lights creating a large gymnasium like area. There were rows of fitness equipment ranging from treadmills to ellipticals, various weigh training equipment, sparring matts, punching bags and his personal favorite, a shooting range- not only for firearms but his bow as well.

Currently the archer had stationed himself as far away from the red and white foam target as possible, firing his second set of arrows at the bull's eye. Clint opted to skip lunch and practice some more while it was virtually empty. It was just after noon and most of the agents were leaving lunch, which meant the gym was almost completely vacant for a while longer.

It wasn't that he needed to practice, using his bow was part of him and often times he was in a better mood the more he got to use it. Long ago he'd found tranquility amongst the disarray of his life when he was shooting. That's how he trudged through the less than pleasant times in his past. He knew peace when he had his bow.

He shot his last arrow- completing the perfect outline of the largest red hoop printed on the target when Natasha walked through the sliding hydraulic doors. She wore her set of S.H.I.E.L.D training gear, which for her was made up of yoga pants rolled at her hips, a sports top embellished with the eagle logo and athletic shoes. Her long red curls were pulled back loosely, allowing some shorter strands to frame her face.

The archer watched her pass all the equipment and fighting mats until she finally stopped in front of him. She smiled crookedly, and peered across the room to the target against the opposite wall slowly shaking her head.

"You're such a show off Barton." Natasha badgered with a smile still on her lips.

He laughed, folding his precious bow and placing it into its case for safe keeping. "And you aren't?" he commented in return.

She shrugged, but the sound of the automatic doors opening pulled their attention away from each other briefly. Two agents walked in, dressed similarly and took one of the sparring mats.

"Fight me." Natasha demanded, lightly punching Clint's shoulder. "Before all the mats get taken."

His partner had started to make her way over to the closest mat before he could protest even if he wanted to. She was like him and archery when it came to hand to hand combat. Their skillsets where their addictions and if either of them kept from feeding it, they were not pleasant people to be around.

The pair stood face to face once they reached the blue mat.

"Your ankle okay?" she asked tightening her pony tail.

"Yeah." He said rotating his foot in a circular motion. There was a slight twinge if he moved it too much one direction, but that would be gone soon.

Natasha stretched her arms behind her head then pulled each leg behind her to loosen her caves.

"Ready Barton?" she took a deep breath and eyed her partner penetratingly. There was a slight overlay in her emerald eyes that gleamed with an impish enthusiasm.

Clint sighed and rubbed his palms together. "Whenever you are."

In S.H.I.E.L.D's database, both he and Natasha were listed as level 7 assassins- the highest rank an agent could be registered, but that meant nothing when he was fighting Nat. Despite being thoroughly trained in a number of different forms of combat, he hadn't mastered them like Natasha had. She'd been practicing virtually all of her life, and her capabilities far surpassed his.

The only thing that helped him was his keen eyesight. Natasha's jabs came quickly and Clint did his best to block and dodge the best he could. Although the more of his partners strikes he avoided, the faster and harder they became. The small sense of playfulness that once lingered in her eyes was gone- consumed by an intense determination. It was something Clint was used to dealing with when the two of them were sparing. Their match would be over soon, and like usual Natasha would claim victory.

Using spring-like reflexes, the agent flipped herself backward in an attempt to smash her toes upwards into Clint's jaw. Thinking quickly the archer vaulted backwards to avoid the blow, only to prolong his defeat. Upon, landing in a catlike position on the blue mat, his partner swung her leg at Clint's unbalanced feet and sent him tumbling backwards.

He felt all the oxygen gush out of his lungs as he hit the mat, along with a familiar sharp pain in his ankle. He cursed repeatedly under his breath as he laid there trying to regain oxygen. Sweat rolled off of his forehead in beads. Natasha was standing over him with a smirk plastered on her lips when he finally opened his eyes.

"You still with me Barton?"

He grunted in response. She offered him her hand and helped him back onto his feet.

"Why do I subject myself to that again?" he asked rubbing the small of his back.

"Because you're the only one dumb enough to do it."

Clint frowned.

"And you're a great partner." She added stepping off the mat.

"Hopefully the ladder of the two."

Clint shambled over to where he'd left his bow, ignoring the soreness in his previously inflamed ankle. He figured the pain would subside later.

"Hey, are you okay?" Natasha asked noticing his limp.

The archer sat himself on one of the benches that lined the large gymnasium and rubbed his ankle.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Your cheap shot just aggravated it a bit."

"Sorry."

"No you're not." He teased. "You have a very competitive appetite Agent Romanoff."

They smiled at each other; Natasha lightheartedly punched his shoulder and sat beside him. Clint removed a bottle of water from the bag he'd brought down with him, took a drink then offered it to his partner.

"Thanks." She said taking it from him.

Just then, the sound of the hydraulic doors brought their attention to the door as Agent Phil Coulson walked in carrying two folders. Clint and Natasha both stood to greet him.

"Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff." The shorter agent said handing each their own file. "These are your identity profiles. You'll find the information you need inside."

Coulson removed two plane tickets from his jacket pocket and handed them each one.

"Your flight leaves in 3 hours."

"We're taking a commercial flight?" Natasha asked.

Clint glanced at the ticket and noticed the LaGuardia International Airport logo. It was unusual to be traveling on something other than S.H.I.E.L.D transport.

"First Class." Clint noted with a pleased nod.

"Yes, you're to assume your new identities as soon as you arrive in Budapest. We can't be too careful with this. S.H.I.E.L.D has reason to believe Valevach is already suspecting our eye on him."

"Great." Clint groaned. "This should be a piece of cake."

"Director Fury wanted me to express how important it is to have this mission completed. Once you land, your connections directly with S.H.I.E.L.D will be cut off unless otherwise informed."

Both superior agents grimaced. Even though both of them were confidant they could see the mission through to the end without any complications, the idea of not having any form of back up was more than unnerving.

"No direct connections? What does that mean?" Natasha's face held both concern and confusion as she spoke.

It was unusual for S,H.I.E.L.D to allow top ranking agents, or any agents for that matter out into the field with limited to no connections to base. If things turned sour, what were they supposed to do?

From what Clint could tell Coulson lacked the proper amount of concern for the circumstances.

"Agent Frost is the only connections we are permitting. He's been undercover for the past six months on the outside. With the acquaintances he's gained, he's to get you two on the inside." The older agent explained.

"Basically, we fuck this up, we get in touch with the Frost fellow, and then he gets in touch with you?" Clint's question sounded more like a statement.

"Precisely." Coulson nodded.

The archer shook his head slightly and pursed his lips. "Still seems awful risky." He inhaled deeply and slowly let out his breath.

"That's why it's been assigned to you and Natasha." He noted. The trio fell silent for a short while as both agents inattentively scanned through the file Phil had handed them.

"Oh, and Fury wants to meet with you before you leave to go over final details. I suggest you go pack up. Your suits are already on their way and the rest of your equipment will follow." He glimpsed at Clint's bow resting in its case on the bench then smiled at both assassins. "Good luck."

** X**

"I'm informed that Coulson gave you your new identities, along with the plane tickets."

Clint and Natasha stood in Director Fury's office, with their single suit cases at their feet. The flight they were to take was scheduled to leave in just under two hours.

"I assume you've glanced over them, however with such a high priority mission such as this, I feel obligated to go over them with you."

The director opened his own copy of their files, starting with Natasha.

"Agent Romanoff, you'll be impersonating Dmitry Bok's daughter, Natalia Bok-Baxter. Bok has been supplying finances to both groups that Valevach is working with. S.H.I.E.L.D has Bok in holding so he can't interfere with the mission."

Natasha looked up from her file. "Where's Natalia? S.H.I.E.L.D doesn't have her?"

Fury shook his head. "She's being monitored on her privet island. She's not a threat. You're to make the impression that Bok sent you- as his daughter- in his place."

She nodded and went back to analyzing her file.

"As for you Barton. You're to pose as Caspian Baxter, a British gangster, who is also Natalia's recent husband."

Clint's brows squeezed together as he flipped through his mission file. Somehow he'd missed the husband and wife thing.

"Posing as a married couple?" Clint raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that a little cliché?"

Natasha shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was apparent that both agents were apprehensive about certain aspects of their proceeding mission. Perhaps the most unsettling was still the fact that their ties with home base were very minimal.

"As cliché as it is, this is what's going to work. I expect both of you to push aside your own feelings and commit to the task I've assigned you. Is that going to be a problem?"

They both shook their head. "No sir."

"Good." He closed both identification flies and continued.

"Agent Frost will be meeting you at the airport in Budapest as his alias Lucian Levitt." Fury looked at Clint. "He's been undercover as Baxter's right hand man, so play it that way immediately. When the plane lands you are no longer Clint Barton or Natasha Romanoff."

* * *

**LaGuardia International Airport, New York City**

It had been years since Clint had stepped foot in an airport. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd flown on a commercial aircraft. It had to have been back when he was with the Carson Carnival, which seemed like a lifetime ago to him. For the past ten years S.H.I.E.L.D had supplied most of his transport, so this was different.

He knew one thing for sure, getting through customs was a Hell of a lot harder now than it used to be. S.H.I.E.L.D's security wasn't even as aggressive as the people they were dealing with. The TSA agents asked more questions than Coulson did during an interrogation. It was insane.

Natasha kept taking deep breaths and squeezing the handle on her luggage- making it obvious to Clint she was getting tired of all of it.

Once the two of them trudged through beepers and scanners, Clint stopped at a nearby Starbucks and bought himself something, while Nat picked up a travel magazine to occupy herself with until their flight was called.

Clint led his partner to a waiting area that was the least inhabited, and slouched into the first seat. Natasha placed herself beside him and opened her magazine. The archer sipped on his beverage watching people as they passed.

"I really cannot stand him." Natasha grumbled suddenly.

Clint tore his attention away from the passing travelers and glimpsed at Natasha- who had was looking at the magazine. He sat up and stretched his neck to see the pages she was looking at but failed to see what she was talking about.

"Who?"

The red head moved her line of sight to the television that was hanging on the pillar across from where they were sitting. It was a news broad cast she'd been watching and as soon as he realized who was talking Clint understood.

Billionaire Tony Stark was promoting some sort of upcoming science expo he was organizing. The construction was underway and apparently was causing traffic issues. Stark apparently failed to see any problems.

Clint shrugged, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "So do you have a legitimate reason, or did you just decide to hate him?"

"He's an arrogant, self-centered; know it all with more money than he knows what to do with."

Clint laughed.

"And now that he's got that damn suit I think it's made him worse!" she added scowling.

Even though he knew he should keep his mouth shut, he was enjoying his partners' tantrum too much to allow her to calm down. Instead he thought he'd pour a little more salt in the wound .

"Then I probably shouldn't mention that I overheard Fury and Coulson talking about wanting him for the Avengers Initiative thing they're planning." He nonchalantly took a sip of his coffee and waited for Natasha's reaction.

A look of disbelief and disgust consumed her features and her scowl deepened. Clint laughed again, and if looks could have killed, he'd be dead.

The archer couldn't help himself; it felt too good to laugh once in a while, even if it was at his partners' expense. Although Nat was really the only one that made him laugh, unless for some bizarre reason Coulson was drunk. That shit was hilarious, but as far as Clint knew that had only happened once and was never to be discussed again.

Natasha was quite after that, either because he'd pissed her off or because she was genuinely interested in her magazine. Clint guessed it wasn't the ladder.

He finished his coffee and stood to throw the paper cup in a nearby trash can. Before he sat back down, a woman's voice sounded over the PA announcing their flight number. Natasha got to her feet, clutching her carryon. Clint did the same and they both made their way towards the boarding station when he stopped.

"Oh wait." He pulled a small yellow envelope out of his jacket pocket and slid two rings into the palm of his hand.

"Here." He handed the piece of jewelry with the large diamond to Natasha.

She looked wide eyed at his out stretched palm, hesitant about taking the ring.

"Where did you get them?" she asked sliding the ring onto her left finger. Clint could sense immediately how uncomfortable the negligible piece of jewelry made her feel.

"Ehh, Coulson forgot to give them to us earlier when we were in the training room." He explained putting the gold band around his finger. He had to admit the ring radiated an offsetting aura, but it was something he could get used to. His profession made it difficult to have any form of relationship. He envied the normal people and their abilities to love. At least he had Natasha's friendship, someone was better than no one.

"Clint." The sound of his name pulled him away from his thoughts and back to reality. "Hand the woman your ticket." Natasha was eyeing him with a raised brow, inclining her head to the woman holding out her hand.

"Sorry." He fumbled to remove the ticket from his pocket and finally handed it to her. He followed Natasha onto the plane, squeezing his way through the narrow aisles of the Economy section of the plane until finally finding their seats in first class.

Natasha quickly glided into the widow seat and Clint sat beside her. Slowly fewer and fewer seats were empty and soon it was time for takeoff.

"It's almost like a real vacation." Natasha mused in her usual monotone. She leaned her head against the back of the tall seat and looked at Clint.

He nodded with a smirk. "Almost."

They locked glances briefly, until Nat turned her attention out the small window.

Both assassins made themselves as comfortable as they could get in an airplane. Clint's ankle was feeling much better thankfully. It was a nine hour flight straight to Budapest, which meant they had nine more hours to act themselves and relax. Once they landed, their mission was their only priority.

* * *

**A/N: Please let me know what you thought! :D**


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